Turnabout Tortuga: an Interactive Legal Drama
by TheBigKaz
Summary: A multi-millionaire inventor gunned down in his jet, a creature adventure who swears he was framed, a washed-up defense attorney on the search for his second big break, and a spiffy prosecutor with a fetish for mind-games and wit that can cut glass. All of them take center-stage in this whirlwind reader-interactive legal drama.
1. Opening Statement

_(I own nothing but the words on the page.)_

* * *

Injustice is inevitable.

No matter where you look, what you do, or how hard you try to fight it, injustice hides in plain sight, buried deep in the clockworks of our lives. The world will never be truly fair or balanced, as a bias exists in every mind; our opinions divide us incessantly against one another in our personal civil wars. In the world of law, these conflicts of opinion become battles in the courtroom, and wars captured, in real-time, by media spotlights desperate to satiate an ever-growing audience.

No longer are the battles fought in secret, overseen only by an audience of those in person. These verbal and philosophical skirmishes are public knowledge in seconds, their every word and action scrutinized and evaluated like a prized horse at an equestrian competition. And as the audience grows, they each take their sides, and the war of thoughts carries on once again, ending only when the next lawyers take the stage for yet another battle of wits.

Thus the injustice reigns eternal, no matter how diligently we stand against its cruelty. Even the most imperturbable and level-headed of judges must eventually stand by their heart. Even when twelve honest men decided one's fate, there were those who refused to stand against their beliefs even when the evidence stood tall against them. And, most unfortunately, there were always those willing to swing their vote for the price of generous financial compensation.

A billionaire in black is gunned down in his private jet; two holes in his chest from a .380 ACP. There is no sign of a struggle, no signs of tampering, no signs of theft. It's a clean kill, two shots in the dark of the matte black plane. The police arrive, look at the scene, and immediately turn their eyes to the flying fortress, the Tortuga. And as they cuffed a man in blue, the leader of a fellowship of peace, and carried him away to await his sentencing from twelve dishonest men, every living human being felt a rolling fire seep down their throats, leaving only smoldering embers of the truth in its deathly wake.

And as we breathe the last gasp of freedom, I stand here a protector of the defenseless, a soldier of truth, and a savior of the common man. But even then, I stand between two minds. On one side of the coin, I live to serve and preserve the integrity of justice and the human right to a fair and honest trial. On the other, I live to promote the inherent injustice of our world, under the ploy that I will be the one to brandish my sword of equality, and finally vanquish the tyranny of "the man" for them. I am almost a man in two realities, one of good and one of evil; of course, at the end of the day, there can never be a story with just one side.

A wiser man than I once said: "the truth shall set you free." To this I ask, what is the truth? Does this simple word not differ in definition from man to man? And do these differences not divide us yet again, and bring us into another war of thoughts and actions? Are facts not just opinions shared amongst many, and is the truth not just opinions with support?

I say, the truth may set us free, but our different truths fasten us back into the chains of war, of which there is no escape. This may simply be my cynical and pessimistic thoughts speaking on my behalf, but there is, in my opinion, still merit to my words. So I ask one thing of you, reader. Pay attention, enjoy, and share your own opinions. I wish to hear your evidence and know your thoughts on the evidence presented in the story. Make your own observations and deductions, and let me see your sides of this ever-developing tale of mystery, suspense, and legal proceedings.


	2. Chapter 1

(Legal note: The "Ace Attorney" series and all intellectual property within belong to Capcom and Shu Takumi. "Wild Kratts" and its intellectual property belong to Kratt Brothers Company, Studio 9 Productions, and PBS and all member stations. I will not profit off of this work in any way, and claim ownership over nothing but the words on the page.)

* * *

My office was colder than usual as I walked into what I assumed (and possibly hoped) would be another uneventful day of work. I removed my jacket, placing it on the hook by the door as my badge caught the morning sun of late November, capturing with it my ever-fleeting attention. Breathing an acquiescent sigh, I walked over to my desk, placing my briefcase atop its polished mahogany surface, and took my seat to prepare for more boring work, reading papers and trying to keep my ever-sinking law firm afloat, if even for just until another case brings me a much-desired paycheck.

As I rolled the dials of the combination locks to their respective numbers, watched as the clasps sprung to life, and cracked open my leather briefcase as if it were an ancient tome of other-worldly knowledge, I felt a sound hitherto unheard for a good while reach my now-attentive ears: the sound of a knock upon my office door. Dumbfounded that this could be the lucky break I've stayed up for weeks dreaming about night after night, I almost didn't answer immediately; thankfully, however, my lips seemed to have a mind of their own as they formed the words:

"Come in."

The front door to my chamber opened, almost like the vast pearly gates of Heaven swinging ajar before my long-awaiting soul. I almost fell out of my chair until I saw not an angel, but a woman of Hispanic ethnicity standing in front of me, the demeanor of her face carrying a visage of a woman both scorned and distressed. Her energy irradiated emotions of devitalizing sadness and furious anger; anger not entirely directed towards me, but to some form of intangible yet omnipresent villainy. She carried a large bag slung from her shoulder, nigh overflowing with documents, folders, and other legal paraphernalia. To be honest, she appeared more prepared than me, as I finally seated myself respectfully in my chair.

"Are you Phoenix? Wright?"

I blinked, before finally allowing a deep sigh to wash away my insomnious woes.

"Yes, I am. Phoenix Wright, world-renowned criminal defense attorney," I said, involuntarily placing an inkling of sarcasm upon my verbal declaration of fame. "At least I was once world-renowned, but lately—"

"Look, I don't care about what they say now, you're the only one I can trust to take my case."

My eyes must have widened to the circumference of two serving trays at this point. What type of case could this woman have, where I, a washed-up celebrity lawyer with barely a job, and who had just gotten their BAR registration back (after losing it unfairly,) finally re-permitting them to practice law in the great, albeit the crazy state of California, am the ONLY one who can be trusted to serve at their defense? Either this is one of the craziest legal cases of all time, or she's just trying to make me feel good; at this point, I can't seem to figure out which of those is closer to the truth, and in the current state of my financial affairs, it honestly didn't matter either way. "Well, can you tell me a little about yourself and your legal situation? I need to figure out exactly what is going on before I can start helping you."

She blinked once, breathed a sigh, and sat in the chair I motioned her towards with my hand. "Okay. My name is Aviva Corcovado, and I am a member of Duke University's Fellowship of Dionysus program. You may have heard of our organization from the news."

I nodded. They were all over the place, going around the world attempting to eliminate the destructive powers of poaching and illegal hunting, fishing, and deforestation. "I have. You're run by that blue guy, right? Matthew was his name?"

"It's Martin. Martin Kratt. And he is why I'm here." She pulled out a newspaper and placed it on my desk. Right there, front-page news: "Martin Kratt Arrested, Billionaire Death Ruled a Homicide." I had to do a double-take; there was no way this was real. "He just got locked up yesterday, charged with Zach Varmitech's murder. Problem is, there's no way he could have done it. Plus, I've been trying everything I can to get in touch with the police, detectives, HIM, but nothing's working. It's like they've got someone else on their side, or in their pockets; after all, Zach was a billionaire and famously conniving too."

I shook my head. "It takes some seriously smooth operating to bribe the cops, but it seems he'd have the material to pull it off. When is the trial, anyway?"

"November 29, four days from now. I know it's barely any time to prepare, but I can help you out. The only guy I could get in touch with was a guy named Gumshoe, but I can get you evidence if necessary."

"No need. I'm used to working under this type of time and pressure, anyway. I'll see what I can do. Besides, you know what they say about time and pressure."

"You better make a diamond out of this one, Phoenix. For his sake and ours." She offered her hand, which I readily accepted with a smile on my face, and dollar signs in my eyes. (Desperation always has appeared profitable to me.) "If you want, I can take you to where the crime occurred. And also, the flying fortress I live in...they're really close to each other. And also, it'll give you a chance to meet and interview the rest of the merry caravan of gypsies I call my family."

"Of course. I will need to figure out their sides of the story and collect evidence, anyway; might as well do both of those at once. And I'm going to need to get as much evidence as I can with what limited time I have." I gave another soft smile of reassurance. Being a decent human being, I wanted to make her feel better. But the job of a lawyer lies in helping people at their lowest. It always has been my purpose in life, ever since that fateful day in elementary school, to bring people out of the deepest chasms of their personal hell and deliver unto them their rightfully deserved justice, even if said justice, unfortunately, ended up being only for my financial gain. (If I may be blunt and honest, this is simply more substantial evidence to prove that nothing in this world has ever, is, or will ever be truly free.)

Aviva gave me a warming smile in return, and I knew then and there that I was going to do anything and everything to win this case for her, for Martin, for the entire Fellowship of Dionysus. I was prepared to defend the honor of justice with everything I had, as I locked back up and lifted the venerable portfolio off of my heavy wooden workspace. "I'll follow you to the scene of the crime," I said, regaining my dignity with every word that left my mouth. She replied with a nod and opened the door to the office, as I donned my coat of blue yet again, the badge catching the sunlight of a new day and reflecting the shimmering beams of justice upon the walls of my chamber of law.

As I buttoned my jacket and stepped outside with my first client in over two months, for the first time in a long while, I felt proud to be a defense attorney.

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(A/N: Thank you for reading this. Please leave reviews, and when it's time, bring your own objections and evidence to the table! See you next time!)


	3. Chapter 2

_(Legal note: The "Ace Attorney" series and all intellectual property within belong to Capcom and Shu Takumi. "Wild Kratts" and its intellectual property belongs to Kratt Brothers Company, Studio 9 Productions, and PBS and all member stations. I will not profit off of this work in any way, and claim ownership over nothing but the words on the page.)_

* * *

Philosophy podcasts and legal talk-shows have been my go-to driving soundtrack ever since I joined UCLA Law School and the thirty-minute journey to the crime scene, following behind my client's yellow VW Beetle, was no different. Putting on a study of Plato's Republic, I let myself sink into deep thought, allowing the time to pass by without so much as a fleeting glimpse of concentration on just how monotonous this ride really was. There was nothing of note to see besides the forest, which didn't really excite me at all; I always have been a bigger fan of the city than of the "great outdoors."

As the speaker began his discourse on Book III, the drive was finally complete. We were deep inside the vast land of King's Canyon National Park, so of course, I wasn't expecting my gaze to lock onto a giant metal turtle as I exited my vehicle. This ship was MASSIVE, standing well above forty feet tall and a good hundred yards wide; readily enough space to comfortably fit an entire zoo, if ever that daunting of a task would be made necessary by the interests of the situation. The hull appeared to be ingrained with solar panel technology, allowing a floating full research center and dormitory to run entirely on emissions-free alternative energy. This was, without a doubt, some of the greatest technology I had ever laid eyes on.

Aviva walked up beside me and turned to look upon her home. Even she seemed impressed by it, and she lived there. "Amazing, isn't it? I still consider it my greatest creation; a flying research fortress, capable of sustaining the entire Fellowship and its cargo, that is entirely free of carbon emissions. It runs on tellurium crystals super-heated by plasmic water under high pressure, and the entire system is powered by generators powered by sunlight, creating a powerful electric circuit running solely on alternative energy sources."

At this point, I was completely stumped; there was a definite reason I was not a science major. "Outstanding. It's incredible, and it looks like a work of art. I just can't believe that you designed this. To be honest, I would have thought NASA was behind something of this technology and scale," I said, entirely shocked to my core that this massive technological advancement was created and designed by a single person.

"I mean, I wasn't entirely alone," she admitted near-solemnly. "I had the engineering school help me with the dirty work of wiring the over five thousand miles of circuitry throughout the entire ship. But in terms of blueprinting and designing the Tortuga, the credit all goes to moi," she proclaimed, pointing her thumb to herself.

All I could say to this statement was "Wow." For the first time in a long while, I was truly made speechless by one's personal accomplishments as we began our walk into the research airship. As we trekked towards the laboratory, three more people revealed themselves in the gaping entrance: a black woman with a large afro, wearing a red T-shirt and yellow pants; a tall red-head with a baseball cap atop his flowing hair, a Space Invaders t-shirt, and jeans; and a brown-haired man in a green, military-style jacket and khaki shorts.

This last man had a face of stoic anguish, the air of a man who has seen the very depths of hell and beyond. He carried himself with a pained sense of authority, his body appearing to stand almost unwillingly erect. I realized he wanted nothing to do with being in any sort of public eye at the moment, as Aviva introduced me to the rest of her team.

"Phoenix, this is Koki, our communications expert, Jimmy, our pilot, and Chris, our second-in-command and head of biology research." As I called their names and occupations, they raised their hands. Chris, however, stood firm as I called his name, not acknowledging the situation for several seconds. Finally, he nodded in acknowledgment. "Chris is actually Martin's younger brother, and he isn't exactly the sharpest of the bunch; his brain's so shaken up he can barely think straight," Aviva clarified.

I nodded in understanding and looked at them. "Okay, everyone. As you probably know, my name is Phoenix Wright. I will be Martin's defense attorney for his upcoming murder trial. Now, to understand the entire situation, I'm going to have to interview you guys, one at a time. Once I'm done with one, I'll bring in the next, until everyone is done, and I go to the crime scene to examine its situation." They replied to me with nods of agreement. "So, if I may, I need a private spot inside to talk to everyone."

Aviva then looked to me. "I'll take you to the communications room. Follow me." I did as I was told, and everyone walked inside behind me after I walked up the ramp. As soon as I was inside the room, I pulled in my first witness: Chris.

**PREVIEWING STATEMENT: CHRIS**

Chris sat down, shaking lightly with a weak, yet noticeable thousand-yard-stare. "Martin was with me the entire day. We were out looking for an invasive termite species that is allegedly damaging the sequoia trees in this area; when we found them, we were to formulate a plan to relocate them to another location. However, it turned out there were no termites, so we decided to just go hiking and exploring the beautiful scenery, and camp out for the night under the trees. It was during the night that I heard several gunshots ring out."

Immediately I pressed him on this information. "How could you tell they were gunshots from that distance away?"

Chris seemed zoned out, but came back after a few seconds. "Sir, I was range-certified on pistol and rifle in the United States Army and did a tour in Afghanistan. I know what gunshots sound like."

"Understandable. Continue with your statement."

"Okay. Of course, hearing gunshots, I bolted awake and turned to find my brother still sleeping in his bag. I woke him up and told him what I heard, and we both found another sleeping spot. In the morning, we got up and headed back to the Tortuga, and as soon as we walked in, they put Martin in cuffs. It makes no sense whatsoever."

I nodded, thanked him, and let him go, before bringing in Aviva for her statement.

**PREVIEWING STATEMENT: AVIVA**

Aviva walked in with a strong sense of confidence, almost as if she knew what she would say already. "The incident occurred two nights ago, in Zach's private jet. I was busy performing nightly repairs and writing some updated code for the suits when I suddenly hear five loud cracks and see a figure run off into the woods. I couldn't tell who they were, and I didn't know what was going on, so I locked down the Tortuga for the night, before continuing with my work. The next morning, I unlock the ship, and suddenly sirens are blaring and cops are walking in, asking for Martin. Well, what do ya know, he shows up and they cuff him up, throw him into the car, and haul him off. It was ridiculous."

"So you saw a figure in the distance? Could you give me ANY physical description of them?" I questioned, slightly suspicious.

"I wish I could give you something, Phoenix, but it was too dark. All I could notice was the motion, really." I could feel something off with this statement, but I obviously would not get her to tell me what she was hiding at this moment. "Besides, the moonlight barely gets to the ground here, with the density of the trees."

"Okay, well that makes some good sense…" I said, not wanting to make it known that I was onto her. She seemed unaware of my deductions, so I was in the clear. There was a pregnant silence after those words, broken by me. "Is that the end of your statement?"

"Yes, it is. I told you everything I could remember."

And with that, she walked out, and the statements continued. Jimmy's statement was very unclear, and it was obvious that he knew nothing I didn't already know about. There were no signs of him hiding anything, and it seemed as though he genuinely had no clue what happened due to him being asleep at the time of the incident. Koki, on the other hand, revealed some interesting information to me regarding what she saw that night.

**PREVIEWING STATEMENT: KOKI**

"I was up all night checking emails and making sure nothing fishy was happening on any of our radars. Everything was going smoothly until around 2 AM, when I heard what I first thought was somebody hitting something with a hammer really hard. I didn't take much notice until I saw a figure walk out of Zach's jet and into the forest. The figure looked kinda big, but I assumed they were just wearing a heavy coat because of the temperature being so chilly around here. Aviva puts us on lockdown and I keep working for another hour and a half, then go to sleep. Next morning, I'm waking up to police sirens and Martin's getting cuffed up; next thing I know they're driving off with him in the back seat."

Now everything was starting to come together for me. "So about the figure you saw. You were able to notice a description?"

She nodded. "Looked about six feet tall, bigger build, but that could have just been a coat. He was wearing a hood so that hid some stuff, and he had a bag on his side, like a duffle bag."

I nodded as I wrote down the description she gave me. "Okay. Well that's great information to know, and I'm glad you were able to catch that. Thank you for telling me. Anything else?"

"Yeah, actually…" She looked at me. "Zach's jet's been quiet for the last couple days. Usually he's out wreaking havoc in some way but I haven't even heard a sound since two nights ago."

I blinked, slightly dumbfounded. Did she really not know what happened? Swallowing back a sigh, I told her the unfortunate truth. "Well, Koki, that's why I'm here. That sound you heard were most likely gunshots. Zach was murdered two nights ago, and I'm trying to get Martin off the hook for it."

"So that's why they booked him up. Damn, I never would have thought Zach would have ticked someone off to the point of getting whacked for his stupidity. Typically he's just an idiot, not a real-deal douchebag."

"So, what exactly would he do?" I inquired, wanting to get to the bottom of his situation.

"Eh, nothing too crazy. Just try to turn animals into robot power sources, and run around being a bumbling idiot. Nothing murder-worthy at all. Kid was only 22 anyway, and already a multi-million dollar robotics and engineering researcher. He also made bank selling a security and encryption program called Lokitup to the government. Guy was an absolute genius, but a total social outcast."

I vigorously wrote down everything Koki told me. She was the jackpot I was needing this entire time, and she paid out every piece of background info I'd ever need for this case. And plus, I now had a lead, and a description of the culprit, albeit a vague one. Now all that was left for me to do was to investigate the scene of the crime: the matte black jet.

The inside of Zach's private plane was about as lively as a mausoleum in an emo kid's bedroom. The environment was dark and gloomy, and not just due to the murder that had taken place inside of it. The black paint job was not limited to the outside; the walls were black as well, with red carpeting on the floors of the private-converted Boeing 777 jumbo jet. The technology, however, was state-of-the-art: damn near everything on this plane was automated in one way or another, with sensors and computers all over the place, automatic doors in every room, and a voice-activated information center that seemed to combine everything good about the Amazon Alexa, Google Assistant, Cortana, and Siri into one device, while eliminating all of the bad.

Then, I walked into the office. The crimson blood still stained the sleek vinyl flooring, three bullet holes in the wall and two casings on the floor. The most confusing piece of the puzzle however, was the state of the room: nothing appeared to be tampered with. Nothing looked stolen or damaged. It was as if the killer did some housework before he killed Zach, but accidentally left two of the casings on the ground.

I heard footsteps coming up behind me, and I quickly turned to see Detective Gumshoe. He was wearing gloves and carrying a camera around his neck. "Hey, Nick. You finally showed up, huh?"

"Yep, finally got my BAR back and now I gotta tackle this total brain buster of a case. So help me out here. Two casings, three bullet holes?"

"You got me on that one, boss; I noticed that bit too and had to rethink my entire life. The gun is nowhere to be found either. Makes no sense at all." He scratched his neck, appearing slightly embarrassed to not have the answers to my questions.

"The whole place just looks too...clean, you know? Like, nothing was stolen or even disheveled. The papers on the desk aren't even roughened. It's just too perfect." I kept looking around, possibly hoping that something about the situation of the room would change and make it easier to understand, but being disappointed every time. After this short conversation with Detective Gumshoe, I put on some gloves and began to collect my evidence.

The two bullet casings were placed into an evidence bag, and into my case. Then, I took a glance at the desk where there sat a briefcase. Flicking the two locks up, I cracked open the briefcase to reveal several stacks of unmarked $100 bills. Now I was officially confused: what is this briefcase for, why is it here, and how is it still here after the murder? I began to theorize ab;out the situation of the briefcase. _Perhaps it was placed there after the fact, or maybe that's why he was killed. But if that was why he was killed, why is the briefcase still there? Wouldn't the killer just take the case?_ My head was spinning with thoughts racing at a million miles a minute, as every question I tried to answer just raised more questions.

As soon as all of my evidence was secured, I exited the jet and began the short walk to my car. Soon, I was on the way to the detention center where they were holding my defendant. It was finally time to interview the culprit of the situation. It was time to talk to Martin.

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(A/N: This was a long one, I know. Don't expect them to be this long in the future. Well, as always, review with your ideas and evidence, and tell me what you think went down. Hope to see you in the next chapter!)


	4. Chapter 3

_Obligatory legal note: Phoenix Wright belongs to Capcom and its creators, and Wild Kratts belongs to Kratt Bros. Company and Studio 9, along all affiliates. I am none of these people. I just write._

* * *

I can honestly now say that the drive back into Fresno was a much better experience than the drive into the forests of King's Canyon; having lived in big cities all my life, I am not at all conditioned for the peace and quiet of the natural world. In fact, I'd almost go as far as to say that the serenity of wildlife somewhat frightens me. With this in mind, one can understand the relief I felt when the bustle of urban civilization finally entered my vision. At last, I could practice my hidden talent: urban California driving.

My podcast on Plato's Republic was just preparing to finish the discourse of Book IV when I reached my destination: the Fresno Detention Center. The conversations of two aged voices came to a screeching caesura as the door to my hatchback swung ajar, and I stepped out from the silver-painted metal chariot. Closing the door with a chunky thud, I walked inside the pseudo-correctional facility, my briefcase firmly in hand.

Walking in, I caught sight of a female secretary sitting at the reception desk, a look of sheer boredom plastered on her face thicker than the makeup on a Sephora door-greeter. She didn't even move her gaze to me until I was near-leaning on the counter of her workspace, and even then her visual contact was haphazard at best. I could consider her personality to be near corpse-like.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I am Phoenix Wright, defense attorney at law. I am looking for Martin Kratt…" I looked at her, hoping to gain access to my client, and with him his side of the story. I was answered with some form of a mumbled reply which was completely unintelligible. (To be honest, I was not expecting five-star service, but I was definitely disappointed at this point.)

Finally, after a minute of her typing, she wrote some stuff on a Post-it note and handed it to me. "Interrogation Room 3, he should be waiting for you."

I thanked her, which earned another grunt of approval, and I was finally on my way to speak to the alleged antagonist of this story. Flashing my BAR badge to several guards, I was allowed to enter into the long hallway of rooms. Finally, I reached the fated Interrogation Room 3, a guard slid me in with his access card, and I walked in to finally meet my client.

"Look, for the last time, you can do whatever you want to me, but I'm not talking until I get my lawyer." The man who sat behind the glass was a sight to behold. Tall, muscular, blonde, the full package. He looked like he could tear me in half with his pinky toe; no wonder they had us separated by glass. His face carried a tired expression of pain and hope.

"Well, I think you can start talking now. Phoenix Wright, defense attorney. And no, I'm not state-appointed." I waved to him, showing my badge. He seemed satisfied enough.

"Finally, thank Christ almighty. And you aren't some cheap-ass public pretender, either; I know of your work. Solved two murders in one case, broke through lying idiots with a concussion, and now you're back after getting shafted. I admire you, Phoenix, I really do."

I didn't know whether to be embarrassed or flattered by these comments, so I decided to be both. "Wow..seems I have a fan. Thanks."

"Not a problem. Now, I understand that time is money, and right now we're panhandlers, so let's get down to brass tacks." Right there, I knew this was going to be a good case. This guy was ready to go. "Sorry if I'm blunt with you, but I don't sugarcoat. I shoot straight."

"Understandable. Now, if you're ready to go, let's start the testimony."

* * *

**DEFENDANT TESTIMONY: PRE-COURT**

"I was out in King's Canyon, hiking with my brother Chris. We had been out for a while and it was starting to get dark, so we set up camp and headed to sleep under the stars for the night. The next morning, we get up and head back, and as soon as I step foot in the Tortuga, I'm on the ground in cuffs."

"So, the police had arrived before you got back?" I pressed, making sure to get the clearest and most accurate testimony I could.

"Actually, no. It was a few minutes after we got back. Sorry if that confused you."

"Not at all. Now, continue."

"Of course, I'm asking them what I was being charged with, and they refuse to tell me. Being a Navy officer, I ask to contact my CO, that's refused. At this point, I just shut up and let them drag me out. Soon as I'm here, they start drilling me, and I am continuously refusing to talk. I kept saying 'I want a lawyer, I want a lawyer,' but nothing's stopping these guys. They keep drilling and drilling, and finally, they seemed to just give up. I haven't seen any of them since yesterday."

I ardently wrote down every detail I could of the officers' countless misdoings. "If anything, they ought to let you go just for the faulty police work," I said, almost flabbergasted by the story. "They damn near broke every Miranda law there is."

"Tell me about it. They wouldn't listen to anything I said. Hell, I haven't even gotten my phone call," he said jokingly, earning a chuckle from me. "Well...oh yeah! Another thing I can't seem to understand: my gun has been missing for a week now. .380 ACP, self-defense pistol."

My eyes slightly widened. "I found .380 ACP casings at the scene, but no gun. Maybe there's a correlation…" I looked at him. "Not to say I think you did it, not at all...just that maybe your gun was used."

"Yeah, that actually makes some sense...maybe the person who took my gun killed him…we just have to hope it turns up somewhere," Martin said, a relieving sense of hope in his voice. "Well, if that's all you need from me right now, thanks for the talk."

* * *

"I think I have what I need...thank you."

"No, thank you. You are a life-saver, Mr. Wright. If you can get me out of the rut I'm in right now, I don't think I could ever repay you," Martin said, now excited that his savior had arrived.

"Don't worry about repaying me. We can talk the price after we win," I replied.

And with this, I packed up my things and walked out of the interrogation room. At this point, there was only one piece of evidence I could get right now: the autopsy report. Little did I know how problematic retrieving this document would be. Walking into the evidence room, I was met with several gazes from officers.

"Sorry to interrupt if I am. I'm Phoenix Wri-"

"I know who you are, Wright. What do you want?" an officer cut me off with a curt and almost-offended reply. They almost acted like I wasn't supposed to be there. "In case you didn't realize, we only hold REAL evidence here."

That uncalled-for jab got me heated. "Look, that was a total scam. I would never deliberately use fake evidence," I exclaimed almost-angrily. "I'm just here for Zach Varmitech's autopsy report."

"Sorry, no can do. That's confidential information," an officer replied, a sense of malice in his voice. There was obviously something going on here. "Besides, 'Mr. Blueberry' in there should have told you all you need to know."

"I still need the evidence to back up his claims!" I replied feverishly. "In fact, he told me of your misconduct and obstructions of justice!"

"Obstructions of justice? He was the one obstructing justice, refusing to cooperate with us! If he would have listened and cooperated, we wouldn't have had to get on him!" the officer rebutted defiantly. "It's our job to put criminals in prison. He killed a man, so we put him to justice."

I was just about ready to throw down with these stubborn idiots. "Actually, it's the court's job to put him to justice, not yours. You may have arrested him, but he hasn't been convicted yet. So if you could, please stop trying to do my job for me and give me the autopsy report."

Finally, a senior officer walked in. "Alright, what's all the riff-raff in here? Phoenix, what's going on?" At last, someone with common sense.

"Sorry to cause so much commotion, sir. I'm here for Zach Varmitech's autopsy report, but these guys won't give it to me. Furthermore, my client has claimed that members of this police force abused their power and have refused him his Fifth Amendment and Miranda Law rights," I explained clearly. "Then they claim he was obstructing justice by refusing to comply with what I have heard was an abuse of the system."

The senior officer nodded in understanding. "I will get right onto investigating those claims. And as for that autopsy report, we actually don't have it…we actually have already given it to Miles Edgeworth. If I am correct, he is presiding as prosecution for this case."

It was at that moment where I realized that I was in deep trouble. Miles Edgeworth was on this case. Now, I wasn't worried about him winning; I had beaten him several times before. What I was really afraid of were his tactics. I would have to make sure Martin could keep his cool while Edgeworth inevitably attempts to badger a confession out of him. It would look horrible on my record for my client to start tearing apart the prosecutor.

"Okay...well, I guess I will have to wait for him to reveal it to the court, and pray he doesn't make anything up. Also, if I may ask, was there ever a .380 ACP handgun found at the crime scene? My client has been missing it for days, and there were bullet casings found at the scene that match the caliber of his gun," I asked, hoping I could find the elusive firearm and secure once and for all whether it was his gun.

"As it turns out, we have not. We are still searching for it, but no sign of it has come up yet," the officer replied disappointedly. "If we find it, we will bring it immediately to the attention of the court, trust me. I will bring it to the courthouse myself if need be."

"Well, thank you for the help." The officer replied with a tip of his cap, and I was finally walking out of the detention center, back into my car, and driving back to my office with all of my evidence; ironically, the sounds of two old men debating the existence of justice entertained my thirsty mind as I fought the rush hour traffic.

When at last I made it to my office, I began to assemble my case. I had four testimonies, bullet casings, and several photos of the crime scene. All I could do now is weave my magic and hope I get my lucky break. I began to examine the photographs, hoping they could get me any more information at all that could give me some type of lead. Nothing of interest appeared until I looked at the fourth photograph.

A single blue feather was sitting on the desk in the office...

* * *

_Chapter 3 is finally in the can! With all of the evidence here, make sure to state your case, and tell me who you think took out Zach. I hope to see you in the next chapter! Believe me: it gets more exciting._


	5. Chapter 4

_Obligatory legal note: I own only the words on the page. Wild Kratts belongs to Kratt Bros. Company, 9 Story Media Group, and all other affiliates. Phoenix Wright belongs to Capcom and creator Shu Takumi._

* * *

Never before have I been so intrigued by a single feather as to drop everything I was doing and make any possible effort to gain more information on it. I couldn't understand exactly what it was that irked me about something as simple as a feather, but I just had to figure out its correlation before my head split open. Within a minute I was on the phone with Aviva, trying to figure out any possible way that this random feather could relate to the case.

"Hello, this is Aviva." The tinny sound coming from the phone released me from my attentive trance.

"Hi, Aviva, it's Phoenix. I have been examining the photos I took of the crime scene, and I just noticed something strange, but I'm not sure exactly how, if at all, it could relate to the case," I explained, trying my best to not sound like a maniac. "I found a blue feather on the desk in his office. I know it's crazy, but I was wondering if you could think of any way that could relate to the case?"

"A blue feather? How big is it?" Aviva questioned, causing me to further peruse the photograph in an attempt to find some type of reference.

"Umm...It's about half-sheet of paper sized," I answered after close to thirty seconds. "Why, what does that mean?"

"Phoenix, that feather most likely came from his CPS," Aviva stated, sounding both panicked and confused simultaneously. "Zach liked to collect pieces of the suits to attempt to reverse-engineer it, but if they find that, they could trace it back to Martin and they're gonna haul him off!" Her voice was laid thick with despair and anguish; she sounded on the brink of tears.

"Look, there are ways of proving that the feather didn't come from the suit at the time of the murder. I will make sure to call for a carbon date test as soon as it's brought to the attention of the court. Trust me, one feather isn't getting him hauled off to the lockup, not on my watch. So just calm down, please…" I could hear the tears dripping down her face as she tried her damnedest and yet failed miserably to compose herself; I could tell at this point exactly why I could never keep a stable relationship.

After a good fifteen minutes of my trying desperately to console my client, we finally ended the phone call. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as I placed the phone on the table. Almost immediately after the glass screen touched the wooden surface of the desk, a knock came from the door. At this point I was raring to go for the case, which showed greatly as I directed an energetic "Come in!" toward the door. Several seconds later, in walks the man with pain in his eyes. He saunters into the office, closing the door behind himself with a soft and supple thud, and moving his eyes to meet mine.

At this moment I understood the definition of helplessness, of being pushed past the human breaking point, and of feeling as if the entire world has turned its back on you; they all resided in the empty gaze of his unfocused eyes. I almost felt physical pain as I looked him in the eyes and asked:

"What's going on?"

He took a couple seconds for his shell-shocked brain to register the question before answering with "I wanted to tell you how important this is to me. If my brother gets convicted, I won't have anyone to help me through life…"

"But you have the rest of the team to help you out, right? They can give you the assistance you need," I replied in an attempt to get him to see the bright side of the situation.

"They can't help me the way Martin can. They're my friends and they help me, yes, but Martin is my _brother._ He can bring something to the table that no one else can, or ever will. If you have brothers or sisters, you would understand my situation."

Now, I felt terrible. Of course, being an only child, I had no clue what he was talking about; I never had siblings to look up to or to help through life. "Oh...I'm sorry, I'm actually an only child. I never had siblings to look up to."

"So let me guess, you looked up to your parents?" he asked me, to which I replied with a nod of my head. "Well, imagine if you had to watch your parents lose the rest of their life to an unfeeling and careless system. That's how I feel, and I know that judge and prosecution will do anything to get him behind bars. The system is screwed. Justice is dead; I would know, I helped spread the injustice with bullets."

I was shaken up by this response, but also motivated. Now it wasn't just my reputation on the line. It wasn't just the freedom of my client; now it was the freedom of everyone. It wasn't just the justice of this court case; it was justice itself. And as I shook Chris's shivering hand and watched him shamble out of my office, I felt the weight on his shoulders, and felt the need to take it off of him; I felt the pain in him and wanted nothing more than to tear it out of him and give him some form of peace. Of course, no warrior should ever have to leave the battlefield just to have to fight battles at home.

"You know," he continued, "ever since Blackquill's arrest, the system has been screwed up. Perhaps it's unfixable now. There's no way people will trust in their judges anymore. Not after they've been bona fide mafiosos for the past seven years." He sounded solemn, grim; he had the voice of a man who wanted nothing more than to have a good place to call home. "When I was in the army, I wanted the country to get better. I hoped that the courts would get their heads out of their asses and start working to fix the messes they made. But they never did; they kept digging their hole deeper. They dug their own graves."

His next words shook me to my core, and awakened a sense of pride and urgency I never remembered having before.

"But I think it's time to pull them out of the ground."

* * *

After my rousing talk with Chris, I called my coworkers and pseudo-disciples, Apollo Justice and Athena Cykes, to a meeting of minds. Apollo has been a friend of mine ever since I taught a class at the Ivy University School of Law, from where he received his juris doctorate and became certified to practice criminal law in the state of California. As soon as I saw him keep his cool in the hot seat, I took him in; at least, as soon as I re-earned my attorney's badge. We even tested the Jurist System together; even if the system was an utter failure, we grew a bond from it. Athena was a friend of Simon Blackquill whom I met when I was studying international law in Europe. I met her in England as I was collaborating in my studies with Hershel Layton, a professor of archaeology at Gressenheller University. Athena was one of the critical witnesses of the UR-1 Incident trial (even if her entire testimony was thrown out as hysteria), and one of the crucial protestors of Blackquill's conviction.

I was, at this moment, making preparations for my defensive strategy, and my plans of action for the trial, beginning tomorrow. As my two cohorts arrived into my office, it was time for the plan to come to fruition.

"Thank you guys for coming on such short notice. I need your help. I have what is probably the biggest trial of my life starting tomorrow, and I'm gonna need all the help I can get to make sure I don't screw this up for my client."

Apollo was the first to speak up. "First off, who is the client, and what happened?" Analytical as always, and to the point.

"My client is Martin Kratt. Arrested for the murder of infamous inventor and biomechanical engineer Zachary Varmitsvich-Korsakoff, commonly goes by the alias Zach Varmitech. Martin has a pretty sound alibi, but everything just feels fishy about this case. I tried to pick up his autopsy report-"

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. THE Martin Kratt? Blue outfit, turtle ship?" Athena asked, seeming as if she was ready to spring out of her chair, through the ceiling, and into the stratosphere.

"Yes. That guy. Anyway, I try to get the autopsy report and, low and behold, I get entirely rejected by the cops. Finally, I get told they already gave it to Edgeworth."

"And there we have a problem." Apollo pulled out a newspaper. Front page headline:

**MARTIN KRATT ON TRIAL FOR MURDER, PROSECUTION TEAM CHANGED LAST-MINUTE. **

"The prosecution changed, Edgeworth dropped out at the request of Zach's associates. Turns out his will had a prosecution clause." Apollo looked at the other two people in the room. "In the case of his death being sent to trial, only one person is allowed to defend him."

"And who would that be?" I asked, half-curious and half-frightened. "Damnit, it better not be Franziska. I don't think I could take another whipping."

Apollo looked into my eyes with his one good eye. A single bead of sweat revealed itself upon his sun-kissed forehead, sliding down his face like a black widow crawling across the desert floor. I could feel my blood run as cold as liquid nitrogen, and a chill ran down my back and turned my spine into an icicle. I was afraid.

"Tell me, Phoenix: do you happen to remember UR-1?"

* * *

_A/N: See, I pulled a sneaky on you guys. And sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger. As always, send me your ideas, and tell me how you think the deed was done. I will see you later!_


	6. Chapter 5

Obligatory legal note: I own only the words on the page. Wild Kratts belongs to Kratt Brothers Company, 9 Story Media Group, and all other affiliates. Phoenix Wright belongs to Capcom and creator Shu Takumi.

* * *

**Wright Anything Agency**

**July 13, 10:03 AM**

My eyes widened to the size of my grandmother's fine china dinner plates as my brain finally processed what this meant for the case. I would no longer be taking on Edgeworth. I would be facing Simon Blackquill, the master of courtroom manipulation. It was at this point where I realized the blessing and the curse of this situation. Blackquill, having faced the slings and arrows of outrageous injustice and unfair imprisonment, will at least fight for justice of some kind. However, knowing his abilities as a legal psychologist, he is going to play every trick he has up his sleeve to try to get me, my team, and my witnesses to slip up. All I could hope for now was a strong will from my peanut gallery.

I swallowed my unease, opened up Word on my laptop, and began to write my opening statement, letting the evidence of the crime speak the truth for itself. There was no loaded speech to be seen, no unfair opinions to sway the judge to an unfair vote: the only way for justice to survive this case is to run my defense on unadulterated truth and hope to God above that Blackquill hasn't been corrupted by the abuses of the American justice system. There would be no jury of twelve angry men to persuade, no governing body to check and balance the iron order of the gavel; there was the Judge, and his word was fact. Having the burden of proof, it would be my job to prove to one man that Martin was not the one behind the gun; a task easier said than done, and a task made especially difficult with the damning existence of the blue feather.

As I typed, my mind began to wander, and soon my brain was surrounded by conflicting thoughts, each of which shouted louder than the last as if they were children on a playground believing that he who shouts the loudest wins the argument. _What is my profession: the defense of justice or the promotion of injustice? Of course, it is my job to defend the justice of my client and uphold the highest standards of the law, but if I were to eliminate injustice, I would be out of a job. When I take a case, am I fighting for their innocence or my reputation? Well, we can say that I am fighting for both, but which takes precedence when the going gets tough? Is it justice if a lawyer defends a criminal, simply because they don't want to look like a pushover? _

_Can anything be just? To say yes is meaningless, as it is a subjective answer; but to say no is to make my job essentially meaningless. If nothing can be just, why do we have lawyers? Why do we fight for something that cannot exist? Why do we fight for world peace, when there will always be someone who disagrees? What is more important: what we are fighting for, or how we fight? Is the desire for universal justice a goal or a burden, when universal justice is unattainable? I don't desire for universal justice, I desire for the upholding of the law; but when the law is unjust, is it just for me to defend it? Perhaps not. _

_Perhaps the concept of being a lawyer is entirely based on lies. We prey on injustice, snatch people up when they are at their lowest, and promise to bring them justice. And maybe we bring them justice. But they bring us our paychecks. And that is the most important thing to most lawyers. But not me. I will bring Martin justice, even if I have to destroy myself to do it._

By the time I could settle my thoughts, my fingers had written the opening statement by themselves. Two read-throughs later, I could find no errors. It was a perfect gut-shot, and I was ready to throw it down. I closed my laptop, placed it inside my shined black leather briefcase, and left the office, preparing myself to enter that courtroom and make the impossible possible.

* * *

**10:31 AM**, **St. Michael's Cathedral**

Meanwhile, Chris was in a completely different situation. He stood before the altar, asking for forgiveness to a god he knew inside would never listen to him. Of course, he would never be worthy of the pearly gates, not after what he had done in his life. He saw the blood on his hands, the skin tarnished from the bodies he left deceased in the burning sand. He felt their souls in his mind, haunting his existence, mocking his unfaithful nature, pointing their ghoulish fingers and guffawing at his blackened soul. Chris lowered himself to his knees and began to grovel at the feet of the crucifix. He mentally begged to be cleansed of his evil ways, wishing in the end to hear Gabriel's trumpet instead of Satan's call of doom. He wept.

A priest walked towards the green-clad weeping man, dressed in a black cassock with a cross around his neck; he approached cautiously, not wanting to scare the clearly-panicked man into a scurry. When he reached a seemingly-comfortable distance from the grieving man, he called out to him with a caring tongue, that of a man who is one with service of humanity. "What is wrong, my son?"

Chris turned his gaze to look upon this conduit to his savior, the wet streaks of salinated sorrow still shimmering upon his cheeks. "Forgive me, father...for my hands are bloodied with the despairs of war. I have killed, father. These hands have left men dead."

The priest kneeled to his level and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "My son, you are a soldier."

"It is my duty to spread peace, instead I brought death. I have murdered dozens with a single finger…I have stolen lives from this world without discretion. I have sinned, Father." Chris seemed to grovel at the feet of Father Silvester, begging for the life and purity of his soul.

"My son, you did not murder. You disposed of enemies in the name of peace. Sometimes, to spread peace, you must fight a war. Let me ask you a question: was there any other way? Was peace possible?"

"They fired the first shots. They started it, and we fired back." Chris looked down, beginning to find some inkling of peace within himself for the situation he had found himself in those four fateful days.

"Well, there was no other way. You did not murder, son. You acted in self-defense. There is no evil in you, and He understands that."

Chris got off of his knees, having finally received the strength he needed to pick himself off the ground and stand a little taller than he had before. "Thank you, Father. I needed that." He crossed himself, and Father Silvester placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No need to thank me. Thank yourself for your service for the freedom of this nation." Chris replied with a simple nod, and walked from the eucharist to the end of the church. He was finally ready. For the first time in years, he cracked a real smile.

* * *

**Fresno Detention Center**

**11:18 AM**

Martin sat still in his detainment cell, looking at his cuffed hands with an emotion he couldn't put his finger on. He hadn't moved from that one spot for what must have been several hours. His eyes laid half-asleep upon his visage, as a slight streak of tears glistened upon his cheeks, ancient artifacts of a time long passed where there were tears to cry for a poor, unfortunate soul like himself. His muscles and joints ached with abandonment, having laid dormant for what felt to him like an eternity and some change.

His left brain knew he was innocent, but his right brain was refusing to cooperate. If not for the consistent cries of hope from the logical lobes of his brain, he would have given up, confessed, pled guilty, and taken his death sentence lying down a long time ago; something in his brain, however, openly refused to allow this unceasingly torturous guilt to overtake his soul like a demon. And even after multiple rigorous and obviously-corrupted interrogations later, he continued to fight back.

"At some point, we'll make you confess. You know that, right? You're gambling with your freedom right now, and around these parts, the house always wins." A cop stood behind him, almost mocking his situation, but Martin stood firm.

"I won't confess because I'm innocent." Martin said back, his words as blunt as a hammer, yet at sharp as a needle. He never turned to look at the officer as he spoke. And with that, he never turned to see the officer draw his weapon. But in the glass the truth came out, playing the events of corruption like a movie screen. "You wouldn't."

"I would." Soon, cold steel met sandy-blonde hair the officer was ready and willing to turn crimson. "The captain likes me. I practically own this precinct. I wouldn't even get a slap on the wrist."

"Of course they wouldn't be the one to punish you. You would be the one for that." Martin said cooly. "You may feel invincible now, but the hardest substance to get out of your soul is someone else's blood."

"You're a maniac. I have a gun to your head and yet you still mock me."

"I would think the true maniac here is one who swears an oath to protect and serve the citizens of Fresno, and yet will pull a weapon on a man who has done nothing to earn it."

"If I kill you, they'll all think you're a murderer."

"You kill me, I become a martyr. The news gets hold, the public would riot. Watch as your little empire comes falling to the ground. One brick at a time. Everybody thinks they've got the world by the balls until the public starts learning the truth," Martin spoke bluntly.

The man said nothing. He put down the gun and sighed. "You know what? Fine. If you don't wanna confess here, we'll just get one out of you in court." The cop then turned, beginning to walk out to leave Martin there alone. At the last second, Martin cleared his throat.

"Last thing: don't think that's the first time I've been asked questions at gunpoint."

* * *

A/N: 1,779 words later, it's FINALLY done. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and get ready: the next chapter is finally in court. Have a good day!


	7. Chapter 6

_Obligatory legal note: "Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney," and all of its affiliated properties are the property of CAPCOM Co, Ltd. and creator Shu Takumi. Wild Kratts is the property of Kratt Brothers Company, 9 Story Media Group, PBS, and is distributed by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. All rights are reserved to their respective owners; I only own the words on the page._

* * *

**Fresno Superior Court of the Eastern District of California  
****Defendant's Lobby, Room 401-D  
****July 14, 9:38 AM**

At this point, I was finally beginning to realize just how much of a total shit-show this trial would be. First off, the police were so obviously corrupt that it was almost giving me a migraine. Second, two crucial pieces of evidence for the case were nowhere to be found. Third, I was going to be facing off against Everett Hamilton, and though he may have been a newbie at this point, I wasn't going to make the mistake of underestimating his oratory prowess.

Everett was a speaker, with a bachelor's degree in speech communications alongside his Juris Doctorate. He aced the bar examination, almost receiving a perfect score, at only 26 years old. At the time, he was one of the hot topic prosecutors in the world of law and everyone knew not to cross him the wrong way. If it wasn't for me being Martin's defense, he would have had this case in the bag easy as a cakewalk in the park. Too bad I wasn't going to let him win this time.

Martin was sitting on a chair in the lobby, chained up like a dog on a leash. I could feel the pure humiliation oozing out of his physical being; he was in agony that grew by the second. I could feel his every breath, a struggle between a man and the chains that bind him to the devil. He was powerless to break his cuffs: the hardened steel was an iron barricade, one which he could not overcome—Chris was arguing with a bailiff to have him unlocked, to spare him a moment of comfort if not simply to save a single sliver of his brother's dignity.

Unfortunately, Chris' arguments were swiftly truncated by a throwing knife flying directly between the two; this, as it would any person without the steadiness of Saint Luke the Evangelist, caused Chris to jump back in surprise, confusion, and panic. He and the bailiff turn their heads to investigate the situation, and there stands Everett Hamilton, donning a classic ebony bespoke suit and wheat-colored woolen necktie, his lengthy hair confidently tied back into a bun and his face clean-shaven. His appearance conveyed confidence, respect, and dignity: the latter two things being seldom-seen in a courtroom for the last several years.

"I do apologize," he began, walking to pick up his blade, then turning to face them, "for my uncouth intrusion into your conversation. I just wanted to wish Mr. Kratt good luck in his case today."

Chris turned to face the prosecutor, looking at him as if he were the Grim Reaper coming to take his senior kinsman to the gates of the underworld. "Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from a prosecutor."

"Respect of the law is too poorly seen in our society today. I, of course, will do all I can to win this case, but I promise you this: I will play fair." He outstretched his hand, extending his hand as an olive branch.

Chris took his hand.

* * *

**Fresno Superior Court of the Eastern District of California  
****Courtroom 401  
****July 14, 10:00 AM**

The gallery was a capacity crowd as Prosecutor Hamilton and his team walked in, taking their places and facing the defendant's table. They looked professional, conservative, and dignified: each one had a fitted suit and tie complete with freshly polished shoes; they were well-groomed and clean-shaven, and their carriages spoke of respectable confidence. For the first time in years, the courtroom's visuals had a shred of respect to them.

Then entered the defense team. Leading the pack was Phoenix, his newly-earned badge of honor pinned upon his suit jacket glistening in the light of the courtroom. His confidence seemed to ooze out of his every pore, knowing well that this would be a case to remember for generations to come. Next was Apollo, prepared to prove his worth to Phoenix and cement himself as a legal force to be reckoned with. Then came Athena, ready to put her criminal psychology skills to the test and show the world what she is made of. Bringing up the rear was Chris, who was granted permission to be on the floor during the trial. He was going to win this for his brother, even if it was the last thing he would ever do in his life. He was there to defend his brother as he did his country: without question, hesitation, or failure.

Finally, Martin was escorted in by two police officers. He was finally unchained (which would give him some more freedom), but he was still cuffed, and quite clearly under police custody. Of course, it was only protocol; they have to ensure that everyone is safe and secure, especially when someone much, much worse than Martin was sitting at the accused's stand. He looked happier, stronger out of his chains and binds. He knew that trying anything stupid would just get him in trouble, and that was quickly made clear to everyone in the courtroom.

The bailiff shut the doors. He took his spot beside the judge's seat, and waited for the signal to begin. The stenographer sat at her desk, prepared to take down every word spoken in this court. The signer was stationed at her place, prepared to sign for any in the gallery who would be hearing-impaired. The signal was given. The time had come.

**_"All rise."_**

* * *

_It's finally here. I thoroughly apologize for the wait and for the shortness of it, but I have been insanely busy with personal matters. Please review and comment. Seriously, I need more reviews. Thank you for reading, and I will see you in Chapter 7!_


	8. Chapter 7

_Obligatory legal disclaimer: I only own the words on the page. Wild Kratts is the property of Kratt Brothers Company, 9Story Media, the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and its subsidiaries. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney and its contents are property of Shu Takumi, CAPCOM, and Capcom Production Studio 4. All rights are reserved to their respective owners._

* * *

"**All rise. This court is now in session, the Honourable Judge Simmons presiding."**

Everyone in the gallery took to their feet as the Judge walked in. I knew him well: he has presided over most of my cases. If I hadn't known better, I may have said he looked to have aged backwards in the years since I had last taken a case. He walked in with purpose and took his seat, then everyone else took theirs. The judge situated his papers, then began his typical speech.

"Bailiff, if you may, what is today's calendar?"

"Your Honor, today's case is The People of the State of California vs. Martin Kratt."

"What are the counts?"

"One count of aggravated murder, in violation of Penal Code 187 PC, Section A, being the unlawful killing of one Zachariah Varmitsky, a human being, with malice aforethought, Your Honor."

"Thank you. Now, to the prosecution, are you prepared to begin this trial?"

Everett nodded his head. "We are prepared to begin, Your Honor."

"To the defense, are you prepared to begin this trial?"

I nodded my head. "We are prepared as well, Your Honor."

"Well then," the Judge proclaimed, "I suppose it is time to begin. Mr. Hamilton and the prosecution, you may begin your opening statement."

* * *

**OPENING STATEMENT: EVERETT HAMILTON (PROSECUTION)**

Everett stood and walked to the middle of the court floor. "May it please the court, Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Everett Hamilton, and I will be representing the State of California in this case; a case of murder for the sake of a reputation; of revenge, and of a malicious need to be on top. What I shall present to you all now is by no means any form of damning evidence against Mr. Kratt, but is only a roadmap; it is like the box of a Lego set, showing what should become of each of the individual pieces which make up the finished product. These pieces will come from the witnesses who will speak their cases to the court, and from exhibits, when these should be necessary and proper for the evidence presented therein. When I conclude this opening statement, my opponent Mr. Wright will stand where I am now and present his story, his roadmap which he believes leads to the true conclusion of the case. Then the games will begin, the two maps will be compared, and hopefully, the truth will be revealed. Mr. Wright, Mrs. Cykes, Mr. Justice, I wish you luck in this trial, and may the truth prevail in this court.

To begin my case: on the 10th of July of this year, Mr. Zachariah Varmitsky walked into his private jet, a customized 26-passenger Boeing BBJ aircraft, parked on a roadway in King's Canyon National Park. This was at roughly the same time when the Tortuga, a large custom-built aircraft shaped like a turtle, had landed in an open patch of land in the same park, carrying the Duke University Fellowship of Dionysus: a group of well-trained environmental activists known for their work in researching and understanding the internal and external functions of wildlife around the world. This group and Mr. Varmitsky have had quite a well-known rivalry, with Varmitsky's natural robotics corporation was seen poorly by the conservationist fellowship; it would be on this night that Mr. Kratt, having built an animosity towards the victim from childhood, had finally decided to finish off his competition. The victim was found dead by a park ranger at roughly 6:30 AM the following morning, and he called the police.

The State will call five witnesses to the stand in this trial. Firstly, we will call Mr. Nuyiv Varmitsky, the father of the victim, to the stand to give his testimony of the troubled past of the defendant and the victim. Secondly, we will call Mr. Randall Sherman, the park ranger who saw the body and called the police. He will testify that the body was shot twice in the head, and that Mr. Kratt was in the area at the time of the sighting, and had been the entire night; he has proof of this within his nightly records and his body cam footage. Thirdly, we will call Detective Richard Gumshoe, who will testify the cause and time of death as stated in the autopsy report, as well as the presence of several bullet casings and DNA evidence that matches with Mr. Kratt. He also has photos of the crime scene which depict no signs of forced entry on the door. Fourthly, we will call very experienced FBI forensics analyst Dr. Amar Sethaan, who will give the report of the DNA test findings to the court, and testify to the evidence found at the scene. Lastly, we will call the security advisor for Varmitech Industries, Mr. Zayn Simmons, who will testify that security camera footage captures the accused in the plane on the day of the murder.

Your Honor, the defense may claim self-defense; this is simply not the case. The evidence shows no signs of struggle or that the accused tried to defend himself. There is simply no other way to consider Mr. Kratt but guilty on all counts, Your Honor."

The Judge nodded his head. "Thank you for your statement. Mr. Wright, if you wish, you may give your opening statement."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

* * *

**OPENING STATEMENT: PHOENIX WRIGHT (DEFENSE)**

I took my spot where Everett was standing before me. I looked to the court, the gallery, the Judge, my defendant. I was ready to go to war for Martin. I believed in him without a shadow of a doubt.

"May it please the court, Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Phoenix Wright, and I will be representing Mr. Martin Kratt in this case. I believe this case is a one of mistaken identities, and a celebrity who can't seem to stop the gossip. My defendant has been a Fellow of Dionysus since its inception in 2011; he has been a spokesperson for the Environmental Protection Agency, and he has served his country in the United States Navy, earning the rank of Petty Officer 1st Class in near-record time for his bravery, support, and selflessness. I cannot speak for anyone in this courtroom, but that does not sound like a murderer to me. Though he cannot attend the trial, I have a writ of certiorari from his senior officer, Chief Petty Officer Kaiden Texidor, which testifies to Martin's good name and character, which will be presented before my first witness is called.

I mean not to force my case, but Mr. Kratt, along with the Fellows of Dionysus, was at the King's Canyon National Park on the night of the murder. However, he was nowhere near the scene of the crime; he was with his brother on a camping excursion, surveying the activity of bats in the area, which I have GPS and camera evidence to prove. The firearm which was suspected to have been used by my defendant to murder Mr. Varmitsky had been missing for six days prior, a case which was presented to the National Park Rangers Association and the Theft and Missing Valuables Division of the LAPD on the date; he himself and the chief investigator on his case can and will testify to this. He was away from the crime scene, without the murder weapon. Even if the motive is there, that alone cannot be the cause for conviction; there must be more to the story, and more proof than that to send a man to rot for murder.

I will send five witnesses of my own to the stand. The first will be the defendant himself, Mr. Martin Kratt, who will give his story to the court as to his whereabouts and situation at the time of the murder. My second witness will be his brother, Mr. Christopher Kratt, who will testify to have been with Martin throughout the entire course of the night, as well as to the missing status of the gun in question. Thirdly, we will send Dr. Alan Parmer, a certified psychiatrist who will show that there were no signs of insanity or mental deficiencies that could cause lapses in memory or mental faculty. Fourthly, we will send Detective Samuel Thompson, the chief investigator for the Theft and Missing Valuables division of the Los Angeles Police Department, who will testify on the case involving the missing handgun that was allegedly used in the murder of the victim. The last witness we will call is the chief investigator of the Los Angeles Police Department's CSI Division, Mrs. Aaliyah Luther, who will testify that the evidence of the crime was inconsistent with evidence commonly seen within victims and suspects of gun murders, as well as evidence that could possibly bring forth a true suspect to the crime. And if that time should come, I will be prepared to bring that suspect into this court and hear his claim.

Until that time, the evidence is clear and abundant, Your Honor. I hope in the end, as it is only fair and right, that my defendant will be found not guilty on all counts."

* * *

I walked back to my seat and took it. I was confident in my belief that my statement had just swayed the judge. And with no jury to sway, that was enough. The Judge seemed to like it, as he smiled and nodded his head. "Thank you, Mr. Wright. And may I say, it's good to see your face in a court of law again."

I gave a smile. "Thank you, Your Honor, that means a lot to me."

Athena turned to me. "You killed it, Phoenix. No pun intended."

I turned to Athena and gave a thumbs up. "I just said what needed saying."

Athena smiled. "And you did just that, Nick."

The Judge then looked to the prosecution. "Mr. Hamilton, you may now call your first witness to the stand."

* * *

_This may have been my favorite chapter to write as of now. It's a long one for sure, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as me. Please review and I will see you in the next chapter!_


	9. Chapter 8

_Obligatory legal note: Phoenix Wright belongs to Capcom and its creators, and Wild Kratts belongs to Kratt Bros. Company and Studio 9, along all affiliates. I am none of these people. I just write._

* * *

"**Mr. Hamilton, the prosecution may call its first witness."**

"Your Honor, the prosecution calls Mr. Nuyiv Varmitsky to the stand." Everett and I watched as the doors to the courtroom opened, and two men walked in. One was an aged man of clear Russian descent, the other a young American man who was most certainly his translator. He took his spot on the witness stand, and his translator stood to his right. The bailiff brought out a bible and brought it to Nuyiv.

"Please place your left hand on the bible, and raise your right hand." The translator spoke the sentence to him in Russian, and shortly after, he did so. "You do solemnly state that the testimony you may give in the case now pending before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"_Yes. I swear, upon my soul," _he said with a nod, before crossing himself with his upraised hand.

The bailiff walked to the translator and placed the bible before him, and he placed his left hand on it and raised his right. "You do solemnly state that the testimony you may give in the case now pending before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

The bailiff then nodded and walked away with the bible in hand. Everett then spoke.

"You name and occupation, if you would, sir."

"_I am Nuyiv Varmitsky, and I am a man of the home."_

"You said 'a man of the home?' What exactly does that mean? Do you work from home, or are you retired?"

"_I do not work. My body is very brittle, you see…my bones are weak, my muscles ached with years of Soviet laboring. I used to work the assembly lines, making bullets for the Soviet Army; my hands formed rounds that fired upon Afghanistan."_

"That clears up the confusion just fine, thank you. Now, onto the case in hand, how would you describe your son Zachariah?"

Nuyiv looked down, crossing himself again. _"He was a man I could be proud of. A man of pride, a man of hard work. He was a hard worker, a very hard worker. But I know that, in that hard exterior shell was a gracious man, a man of God. He loved church. He loved going to church. I think he found a great deal of strength in his faith. He used to play the organ during mass, you know? Such sweet, dark, humbling music he would play; improvisations and hymns that would bring Lucifer himself to bow before his Heavenly Father. When he pressed those keys down, and that organ sang, I had to work like a Gulag laborer to not fall to my knees and cry 'Ave Maria!' My word, could he make that organ cry."_

Everett seemed to crack a smile. "It sounds like you were fond of your son."

"_Oh yes, yes. He made a proud father out of me. He was God's gift to my lineage, and he made me proud." _Nuyiv began to gently weep. _"I am sorry...I cannot fathom the Lord being so cruel...this must be the work of the Devil, I believe it! He has come to tempt us to his side! You will not take me, wicked fiend!" _He crossed himself twice, then began mumbling quickly.

"What is he saying?" the Judge quickly asked the translator, standing beside the weeping man.'

"The Lord's Prayer, Your Honor."

Nuyiv suddenly looked to the heavens and cried out, in broken English, "Give us peace, Maria! I beg of you, peace!"

The gallery began to look around, concerned. The Judge struck his gavel authoritatively.

"Order in this court! Nuyiv, do you need a moment?" Nuyiv shook his head, raising his hand to the Judge, respectfully yet strongly.

"I am okay, Your Honor...my apologies for my outburst, I just cannot fathom my son meeting God so soon…"

Everett looked at him. "That is understandable. He was only 28." Nuyiv nodded in agreement. "Well, let's continue with the examination, shall we? Several days ago, we spoke about Mr. Varmitsky's relationship to the defendant. How was their relationship?"

Nuyiv cracked a small smile. _"Martin is a bright man. A very bright fellow. His family and I were neighbors, that's where they met. They used to talk philosophy over chess; boy would they debate for hours. Zachariah always had a way with words, despite his big stutter. I think he made a better man out of Zachariah, as Zachariah made a better man of Martin. I could always tell when their game was getting hot, though, for they would get tensely quiet." _

My defendant smiled, nodding as Nuyiv continued. _"My word, were they good. Martin was easily the best chess player I had ever met; he taught me how to play. But Zachariah was no rookie either. They almost knew each other's thoughts, always countering each other, thinking several steps ahead of their opponent at all times. They clashed with intensity, but they made up for each other's weaknesses. It was almost as if Martin was Zachariah's devil's advocate, you know? He gave him the other possibilities to think through, giving him a stronger judgement in life."_

Everett nodded. "Did Mr. Varmitsky have any enemies, anyone who would possibly wish to see him dead?"

Nuyiv stared at Everett. _"I am afraid to say he had enemies, but yes he did. He was a tough customer, a dedicated man who was unafraid to run someone down to get ahead of the game. He had a drive, an intensity, a great American competitiveness and moxy. But his enemies were made through competition and not through something like debt. He would always pay his dues, without fail, and as quickly as he possibly could."_

Everett nodded. "So when you say he had enemies, you wouldn't think of anyone who would try to kill him?"

"_No. Not a chance…"_

Everett nodded. "Okay, I believe it is time for the defense to begin their cross-examination."

I stood, nodded to Everett, and turned from my desk position to face Nuyiv. I could see an incurable struggle in his eyes, a pain of the spirit for which there was no remedy but the march of the time and the flowing river of tears. It was a pain I hoped to never know: the pain of losing someone too soon; the pain of having a great, young, vibrant soul ripped from this world with two gunshots to the head. Grief radiated from his shaking bones, turning his skin a ghostly pale akin to the empty streets of a Moscow blizzard, void of life and full of pure sorrow; it appeared to have turned off the lights in his eyes, replacing their usual luster with a dull, faded, purposeless finish.

His eyes. They captured me like a hare in a wire trap, his pupils pulling me into their abyssal gaze like two black holes in a sea of milky innocence, aglow with red streams of life throughout its waters. I felt the gravity of his soul guide my thoughts into orbit like Helios' controlling hands keeping the planets in order in their gentle drift around his mighty form. Suddenly, the vacuum of his pupils ceased its grip upon my voice, allowing me freedom to form the words that would begin this case.

"Mr. Varmitsky, I wish to go back to your relationship with your son. How was your relationship with Zachariah?"

Nuyiv gave a thoughtful glance. _"I was a tougher father, for sure…It was how I was raised. My father was hard. He kept me straight, ensured I was always on the right path. Now, young Zachariah was different than me, of course. He had a wandering mind; he was constantly curious, constantly striving to experience everything. Of course, I couldn't let him do that, so I had to be harder on him to keep him on the straight and narrow."_

"How exactly did you keep him in line?" I asked him, having a sneaking suspicion that he may have been hiding a darker side than he was letting on.

"Mr. Wright," Everett interrupted, "I don't see the purpose of asking that question to my witness." He was obviously trying to sabotage my attempts to get the answer out of him, which only grew my suspicion.

"Mr. Hamilton, someone saying 'I had to be harder on him' could have various interpretations, some of which may be incriminating," I rebutted.

"_Well…I did have to get somewhat physical with him when he was a young boy, but how else will you explain right and wrong to a toddler? As he grew older, I grew less physical and more verbal. I would tell him stories of people I knew who fell victim to bad decisions, trying to scare him straight, but I never laid my hands on him when he could understand my words." _

I nodded in understanding, but my eyes and attention then shot to Chris, who shook his head intently, doubt dripping from his pores like sweat in the sweltering heat of Herat.

The Judge obviously saw it too, as he was right on his case. "Mr. Kratt, as a member of the defense team, it seems as if you have your doubts as to Nuyiv's statement."

Chris nodded. "Your Honor, Nuyiv is lying, and I have evidence to prove it."

The Judge looked heavily intrigued by this statement. "Well then, by all means, show the court this evidence, Mr. Kratt"

Chris nodded, walked over to the floor of the courtroom, and pulled out a manila envelope, labeled "Photos, ZV, 16 years". Opening it and tipping it over the evidence table revealed photographs of scars and bruising on a person's body, some of which appeared to have been freshly-laid upon the skin. He turned to the court and looked at everyone. "May it please the court, Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, these photographs were taken when Zach was roughly 16 years old. I will advise, they may be disturbing to some, but they properly show the extent of Nuyiv's broken and perjurious testimony."

The photos were shown on a screen. "I have witnessed Mr. Varmitsky's punishments first-hand, as his old neighbor. He would rarely use anything other than his body, but he would leave bruises such as these with things like hardened boot heels and worn leather gloves which acted like brass knuckles. He would typically act out his punishments in his fenced-in backyard; I did actually record these punishments in a diary for close to three and a half years."

The Judge looked at Chris. "Well, do you have the diary with you, Mr. Kratt?"

Chris shook his head with a tinge of regret. "Unfortunately, I could not find it, Your Honor; however, if we were to prolong his investigation one more day, I most likely would be able to procure it for you."

"That would be greatly appreciated, Mr. Kratt, but let us keep pressing on the matters at hand." The Judge turned to me with confident poise. "If I may, Mr. Wright and the rest of your defense team, I wish to ask Mr. Varmitsky some questions based around this newly-released evidence."

I nodded to him confidently. "Certainly, Your Honor. The floor is yours."

The Judge cleared his throat. "Mr. Varmitsky, this new information is quite startling to me. I would wish for you to explain those injuries, or we may have to indict you on charges of battery and child abuse."

Mr. Varmitsky cleared his throat. "I did not cause those injuries to his body, but I know who did. It was my first wife, who even after the divorce refused to leave us be. She was a rather-vicious person, a snake not to be trusted. When he was young we divorced, and we each got half-and-half custody. I would take him there, and he would come back with bruises all along his body. She beat him like an animal."

"Well, Mr. Varmitsky, did you contact the authorities about these incidents?" the Judge inquired, shocked and confused.

"Of course! I went to them again and again, but they only said the injuries weren't in line with abuse. Well, back then everything was corrupt. And it angered me inside that that venomous lady could die a free woman."

"Okay, that all makes sense enough...Mr. Wright, you may begin your examination of the new testimony."

"Certainly, Your Honor." I stepped back into the center of the floor and looked at him. "Mr. Varmitsky, when exactly did your ex-wife die?"

"She died several years ago, on Zachariah's 19th birthday."

"Mr. Kratt, when did you stop recording injuries on his body?"

Chris looked at me and nodded. "When he was 17. After that, I stopped noticing them. If it was his mother, then it might be physical deterioration that ended the abuse."

Nuyiv nodded. "She did suffer from something she called 'MD.'"

I nodded. "So she had muscular dystrophy, which would cause muscular deterioration. Makes sense. Now, did anyone but Mr., Varmitsky and Mr. Kratt know of the photos?"

"I did," Martin replied softly, looking toward me. "I think he did too," he added, pointing to Nuyiv.

"And what was his reaction to the photos?" I asked.

"Appalment," Nuyiv declared with confidence. "I wanted nothing more than to find the culprit of those wounds and give them hell."

The Judge nodded satisfactorily. "I think that will be enough from Mr. Varmitsky. Do you have any final words for this court?"

Nuyiv looked the Judge, then me, right in the eyes. His were a new pair, filled with determined virility and confident vigor. "Find who killed my son, and give him no mercy."

* * *

(A/N: So sorry for the wait. Life sucks sometimes, and I hope that people are still interested in this story. I certainly am, don't worry! Now that I am in college, I may have less time to write, but I will certainly make the most of the time I get. Read, rate, and REVIEW! I take your feedback into great consideration, and your predictions may change the story! Thank you all!)


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